Irony, though, is supposed to be dead. These sons of bitches are cheating.
Of course, I only lash out at smug ironists because I don't want to admit that I am one. Ever since the 2001 op-ed "death of irony" circlejerk, being a smirking asshole isn't as cool as it ought to be. Sure, lots of jerks ruined irony by being too cool for everything, but what about those of us who were earnest and sincere in our irony?
Being really into music means embracing irony at a young age. As soon as you get into junior high and learn that Bryan Adams isn't as cool as you thought, you automatically develop the "Yeah, but isn't he hilarious?" reflex. (Either that or you stop caring about being cool; from there, it's a slippery slope to ponytails and Dream Theater.) For obsessive pop nerds, irony is a frequently necessary defense mechanism. We all secretly want to be infallible aesthetes, so anything that helps us convince ourselves that we can listen to Bon Jovi without really liking it is an invaluable psychological tool. When we were confronted with the death of irony, we were confused, angry, and insecure. More so than before, even.
Does the death of irony mean we have to be sincere all the time? Outrageous. It would rob us of simple pleasures like bumping R. Kelly tracks in the car totally guilt-free because we've tricked ourselves into thinking we like it in a smarter way than everyone else likes it. It would dismantle important pop-nerd hazing rituals, like pretending to dig My Chemical Romance until our me-too friend admits that he likes them too, and then springing the trap on him and making fun of him for the rest of his natural life. (It sounds mean, but it's counterbalanced by the secret shame that we actually kind of do like My Chemical Romance).
And what would come of our bread and butter, our long hours of MTV and VH1? Would we have to be sincere about that, too? Music television is easy to stomach if we adopt a superior smirk, but the thought of admitting that we're conscientiously participating in our culture is extremely depressing. Have you seen what MTV is airing these days? The "MTV never plays videos" complaint is extremely well-worn, of course, but their current program schedule is simply astonishing. Most of it involves rich, vacant teenage morons pawing through each other's underwear drawers, or rich, vacant teenage morons planning lavish and undeserved sweet-sixteen parties. I call it "Mediocreality." It's only fun if you pretend you're above it.
How can those of us who grew up in the '80s and '90s not rely on irony to cushion our fragile egos? We're the products of severe cultural abuse. Remember when MTV tried to sell us Tony Bennett as the next Nirvana? That was a mean-spirited trick. I bet you've got a friend still who owns Tony Bennett Unplugged and swears up and down that his dad bought it for him. Even more scarring was the retro swing fad; first of all, it was a nasty trick to play on poor Brian Setzer, who probably didn't know he was only being repurposed as a disposable prop in some hollow tastemaker's coked-out brainstorm on selling khakis to people who don't work at Staples. Worse yet, there are still oblivious dopes out there dressing up like grandpa and throwing each other to and fro because they never got the message that we're not actually bringing that back. These people have tragically fallen through the cracks of society because of their misplaced sincerity, which has doomed them to a life of earnestly and authentically enjoying themselves without caring what everyone else thinks. What kind of a life is that?
I suppose there's nothing for pop nerds to do but wait this out. Sooner or later, irony will be so uncool that it will be ironically cool to be ironic.
